You Are the Prodigy We’ve Been Looking For

To poach me, the rival CEO came knocking three times, offering a staggering one-million-dollar annual salary. I was tempted. I made the jump. But after my first month, the direct deposit hit my account. The text alert read: $2,000. When I confronted him, the CEO just shrugged it off. “It’s a probationary test. Show me your value. Don’t just chase the money.” I laughed and submitted my resignation on the spot. Three days later, his company’s entire system collapsed. Their stock value plummeted, erasing half a billion dollars overnight.

1 My phone buzzed on the desk. It was the direct deposit notification from the bank. I didn’t look at it right away. My fingers were still flying across the keyboard, typing out the final line of code. Enter. Compile. Run. A splash of green lit up my screen: SUCCESS. The foundational optimization of the entire central data platform was complete. Three days ahead of schedule. I took a sip of the now-stone-cold coffee beside me, the bitter liquid a stark contrast to the quiet hum of satisfaction for a first month’s work well done. Only then did I leisurely pick up my phone and unlock the screen. The notification sat there, silent and waiting. [Bank of America] A direct deposit of $2,000.00 was made to your checking account ending in XXXX on Sept 28, 5:31 PM. Your current balance is… My eyes locked onto the number: $2,000.00. My mind went blank, a sudden roar of static in my ears. I read it three times, making sure I wasn’t misplacing the decimal point. Two thousand dollars. Not eighty thousand, not even twenty. Two thousand. It was laughable. An amount that might just cover rent for a tiny studio in this city, yet right now, it felt like a slap in the face, sharp and stinging. The air in the open-plan office grew thin. The rhythmic clatter of keyboards and the low hum of my colleagues’ discussions blurred into a distant, muffled noise, as if heard through thick glass. Arthur Vance’s face, a mask of perfect sincerity, flashed in my mind. “Lynn, you’re not just a talent, you’re a force of nature!” “A million-dollar salary is just the beginning. Apex Dynamics needs a technical visionary like you to lead us.” “I promise you, here you will have absolute authority, complete creative freedom, and a reward that truly matches your worth.” He had visited me three times, his posture lower, his words more earnest with each meeting. The first time was at a coffee shop downstairs from my old company, where he painted a grand vision of Apex Dynamics’ future. The second was at an upscale restaurant with a private room. He dissected the creative bottlenecks I was facing at my current job and promised me a kingdom I could build from the ground up, my way. The third time, he showed up at the entrance of my apartment complex, holding a drafted contract. The night wind whipped at his expensive trench coat, but he didn’t seem to notice. He just held out the folder, the staggering figure on the paper catching the streetlight, his eyes burning with intensity. That sincerity had moved me. That million-dollar promise had certainly turned my head. But now, all of it had been reduced to a cold, four-digit number on my phone screen. A meticulously crafted, exceptionally cruel joke. The blood drained from my face, only to rush back, hot and furious, pounding in my temples. Rage threatened to incinerate my reason, yet my body remained unnervingly calm. I stood up. The wheels of my chair shrieked against the floor from the sudden movement, drawing a few startled glances from nearby coworkers. I ignored them and strode toward the CEO’s corner office at the end of the hall. The sharp click-clack of my heels on the polished marble floor echoed with each step, a hammer blow to my pride. I didn’t even bother to knock. I pushed the door open and walked in. Arthur Vance was leaning back in his enormous leather chair, leisurely sipping a cup of tea. He showed no surprise at my intrusion. He simply raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk I couldn’t decipher. “Ah, Lynn. Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the chair opposite him. His tone was as casual as if he were inviting a guest for afternoon tea. I didn’t sit. I stood before his massive desk, held up my phone so he could see the screen, and spoke, my voice devoid of emotion. “Mr. Vance, I’d like you to explain what this means.” His gaze flickered to my screen for a single second before he looked away, lifting his teacup to gently blow on the surface. “Oh, that,” he said dismissively. “It’s the company’s probationary test for you.” A test? I almost laughed out loud. “A probationary test for a million-dollar salary is a two-thousand-dollar paycheck?” A chill I hadn’t intended crept into my voice. “Now, now, young lady. Don’t be so focused on money,” Arthur said, setting his cup down. He leaned forward, steepling his fingers on the desk, adopting the posture of a wise mentor. “I admit, you’re a talent. But talent needs character, a willingness to be tempered. I need a partner who will stand with the company through thick and thin, not a mercenary who only cares about the next paycheck.” He looked at me, his eyes filled with a condescending, appraising glare. “This test was designed to sand down your sharp edges. I wanted to see how much value you could produce without the lure of a big salary. And I have to say, you did an excellent job this month. I’m very satisfied.” He was satisfied. I heard something inside my chest crack. So the grand gestures were fake. The heartfelt admiration was an act. And the promise, written in black and white, was nothing more than a disposable tool for his little “test.” He wasn’t hiring a lead engineer; he was trying to break a horse he thought was too wild. He’d dangled a million-dollar carrot to lure me into his stable, and now he was offering me a bucket of oats and telling me to learn my place. This wasn’t just about docking pay. This was a complete and utter humiliation. A wave of absurdity washed over me. I looked at this self-important man, at the smug, in-control expression on his face, and I started to laugh. It was a quiet sound that escaped my throat, but it was enough to make the smile on Arthur’s face freeze. He probably wasn’t used to people laughing after being “mentored” like this. “Mr. Vance,” I said, my voice terrifyingly calm. “You earn your own respect. Don’t expect me to give you any.” Without giving him another moment to react, I turned and walked over to the guest computer in the corner of his office. Right in front of him, I opened a browser and logged into my personal email. My fingers flew across the keyboard. I typed out the subject line with deliberate force: Resignation. No lengthy accusations, no emotional tirades. Just a few simple lines: Due to personal reasons, I am resigning my position, effective immediately. Signed, Lynn. Click. Send. The whole process took less than thirty seconds. When I was done, I closed the laptop and looked up at Arthur, who was now on his feet. His expression shifted from confusion to shock, then curdled into offended contempt. “Lynn, what do you think you’re doing? Throwing a tantrum?” His voice had turned cold. “Who do you think you are? An employee who’s been here one month, throwing a fit over a minor test?” “Let me tell you something,” he spat, waving his arm as if delivering a verdict. “The platform makes the person! Without Apex Dynamics, you’re nothing! There’s a line of people out there who would kill to be in your position!” “I’ll give you one chance to retract that email. Get out, cool down, and we can talk tomorrow.” I looked at him, truly looked at him, and saw nothing more than a small man posturing on a big stage. I didn’t say another word. I just gave him one last, cold, emotionless glance. Then I turned and walked out of that suffocating office without looking back. Behind me, I could hear Arthur’s enraged roar. I didn’t even break my stride. As I walked back to my desk, I could feel the atmosphere in the entire tech department shift. The air was thick with whispers, suppressed snickers, and unveiled, gloating stares. My phone vibrated. A coworker had added me to some gossip group chat. “LOL, you guys hear about the million-dollar ‘genius,’ Lynn? Heard her paycheck was only 2k. She totally lost it!” “For real? That’s hilarious. Did she really think the money was that easy to get?” “Classic gold digger getting a reality check. She doesn’t have the skills to back up that kind of salary.” “Vance is a genius for this move. A perfect way to put everyone in their place. No one’s gonna try to negotiate hard after this.” I stared at the malicious words, my face a mask of indifference. I left the group. Then I blocked them. This toxic place. I wouldn’t spend another second here.

2 I had barely sat down at my desk when the HR manager came clicking over in her high heels. She wore a practiced, plastic smile as she slapped a departure checklist on my desk. “Lynn, Mr. Vance said that since you insist on leaving, the company won’t stand in your way. Per company policy, you have one day to complete the full handover of your work.” One day? I scoffed internally. The data platform I was responsible for had over a hundred architectural diagrams alone. The associated databases and API documentation would make a stack taller than a person. Forget one day; even with a full week, a complete newcomer wouldn’t be able to make heads or tails of it. This was a deliberate, final twist of the knife. “Understood,” I replied coolly, not even bothering to look up. My composure seemed to irritate her, but she could only turn on her heel and leave in a huff. A few minutes later, the Director of Technology, Leo Price, approached with a younger man in tow. Leo was Arthur Vance’s right-hand man and had viewed me with suspicion and a veiled hostility from day one. “Lynn, this is Mark. He’ll be taking over your responsibilities,” Leo announced, his tone dripping with schadenfreude. The young man, Mark, looked like he was fresh out of college. His eyes held the cocksure arrogance of a kid who thought he knew everything. He glanced at my monitor and sniffed dismissively. “Don’t you worry, Lynn. I’m a fast learner. I’ll get it done.” I said nothing. I simply opened the core architectural diagram of the entire system. The star-chart, composed of thousands of nodes and tens of thousands of intersecting logic lines, spread across my 48-inch curved monitor like an impossibly complex and beautiful labyrinth. The color drained from Mark’s face. The cockiness vanished, replaced by a look of pure, slack-jawed bewilderment. “You… you built all this by yourself?” he stammered. I ignored him and began the handover. For me, the “handover” consisted of listing the server access accounts and database administrator passwords in a document. The bare essentials. As for the core design philosophy, the intricate logic embedded to handle ultra-high concurrency, the maintenance scripts that only I could ever comprehend… I didn’t mention a single word. It wasn’t my obligation. If you think I’m only worth two thousand dollars, then you’ll get a two-thousand-dollar handover. Leo watched for a while, sensing my… lack of cooperation. He let out a cold snort. “Don’t try to play any games, Lynn. You think you’re so important? The company paid for this work; it’s company property. You’d better hand it over properly, or you’ll be in a world of trouble.” I finally stopped typing and looked up, meeting his gaze directly. “Leo, every piece of technical documentation, every version of the design drafts, and every update log has been backed up to the designated server directory, in accordance with the company’s strictest protocols.” My voice was quiet but crystal clear. “Not a single character is missing. As for whether or not the next person can understand it… that’s a matter of their competence.” I paused, my eyes sweeping over him and the pale-faced Mark standing behind him. “Good luck.” Leo was speechless, his face turning the color of raw liver. He probably never expected that I, the person who should have been in tears, begging for my job back, would be so calm, so defiant. He shot me one last hateful glare and stormed off. For the rest of the afternoon, the tech department watched me from a distance. No one came over to ask a question. No one seemed to care about the inner workings of the system they used every single day. All they saw was a “gold digger” making a pathetic exit. I started packing my personal belongings. There wasn’t much. A coffee mug, a small succulent, and a few technical books. I methodically formatted my computer’s hard drive, deleting all browsing history and personal files, ensuring not a single trace of me remained. Before clicking the final “Confirm,” my gaze fell on the code repository statistics. One month. 1.2 million lines of code. That code was like a child I had raised, building a vast and stable empire. I had pulled all-nighters for it, felt a surge of joy with every smooth deployment. And now, I was saying goodbye. A flicker of complex emotion crossed my mind, but it was quickly replaced by an icy calm. The moment this empire betrayed me, its survival was no longer my concern. At six o’clock, I walked out of the gleaming glass doors of Apex Dynamics, holding a small cardboard box. Behind me, the skyscraper’s facade reflected the blinding light of the setting sun. I didn’t look back. Standing on the sidewalk, I took a deep breath of the evening city air, thick with the smell of exhaust fumes. The knot of anger and frustration that had been tightening in my chest finally loosened, exhaled into the dusk. Goodbye, Apex. Goodbye, Arthur. We’re done.

3 The first day after quitting, I slept until I woke up naturally. A sliver of sunlight pierced through a gap in the curtains, casting a bright patch on the floor. I had blocked all calls and messages from Apex, and the world was suddenly, blissfully quiet. I made myself a lavish brunch, then curled up on the sofa and watched a movie I’d been wanting to see for ages. My phone rang in the afternoon. It was an unfamiliar number. I hesitated for a moment before answering. “Hello? Is this Lynn?” A familiar, slightly weary voice came through the line. It was my former boss, the founder of Starlight Technologies, David Chen. “David,” I said, my voice softening instinctively. David was the first boss I ever had, a classic, old-school tech guy with a passion for engineering that bordered on obsession. He was the one who had mentored me, transforming me from a green college grad into a seasoned expert who could lead projects on her own. If Starlight hadn’t run into financial trouble, unable to offer a competitive salary, I never would have considered leaving. “I… I heard you left Apex?” David asked cautiously, as if afraid of treading on a sore spot.